


Every Motion is Closer to Touching

by vintagevinyl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Anal Sex, Fingering, Friends to Lovers, Leadership, M/M, Multi, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Burn, Zombie Apocalypse, idk ill put more smut tags as they come up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 09:29:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11756937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagevinyl/pseuds/vintagevinyl
Summary: The Zombie Crisis that changed the world in a week began with childhood friends, Harry and Louis, hundreds of miles apart. Harry makes it back to Louis, finding his best friend taking place as the natural leader of a makeshift fortress of scrappy survivors. With Louis' leadership and abilities (and gun) taking center stage, Harry can't help but get sucked into Louis' whirlwind of charisma and power, seeing him a completely different light and feeling a completely different and strange kind of pull towards him.But maybe that's not so strange. It's a changed world, after all.





	Every Motion is Closer to Touching

**Author's Note:**

> This summer has been the summer of me posting my art (drawings & etc) online for the world to see. Summer's almost over, and I have no delusions of being good at writing like I am at drawing, but art is art and I figured I might as well post what I've got, because I've got multiple WIPS that I don't want to fully ignore in my google docs. Here's a little of the light of day for one of them. I'm NOT committing to finishing this one or any other that I might post, but I didn't want them to just sit there rotting away! I'm putting this fic all as one chapter, if I ever add to it it will go in a new chapter, and if I ever finish, I'll go back and adjust the breaks as necessary.  
> There also may be notes to myself so if suddenly the story or dialogue goes nuts that's me talking to myself and I hadn't edited it out from the google doc copy and paste.  
> Title from Coyotes by Jason Mraz

Untitled Zombie

++++++

The world doesn't end when the zombies come. 

Life goes on.

The elderly die and the babies are born, asthmatics keep wheezing, and the sun keeps shining. The usual.

This zombie apocalypse originated, for once, in Europe, in the most developed countries the world has to offer. Some blame the over-cleanliness of developed countries for the disease; others, the medical experimentation. Even others blame the obliviousness of the First World. The nut jobs blame the government, the British parliament, for planting the disease in the poor neighborhoods in a twisted attempt at population control. This theory has not been confirmed nor refuted by the government, although it has been rejected by the majority of the remaining population.

The earth had 9 billion inhabitants, once. Now, only 3 or so billion remain, spread far and wide throughout the countries and continents. An exact number is still unknown, as nearly every country’s government has fallen apart, especially in terms of population monitoring and census. 

When your dead citizens get up to gnaw on their family members, you stop keeping count. 

The thing is, the virus was airborne, flowing on the wind currents, flying with the birds, and infecting anyone who inhaled. Inhaling the Z-bug doesn’t immediately kill anyone, but once it’s been breathed in, it cannot be let out. The second that person dies, whether it be of natural causes or otherwise, they reanimate, turning into the wonderful, flesh-eating ghouls that everyone knows and loves. Of course, being bitten, scratched, or otherwise exchanging blood with a reanimated person will instantly activate the dormant virus inside of you, and before the hour is up, you’ll be biting, scratching, and spitting on those you once called your friends. 

++++++

Harry was traveling, on his way to Chicago, when it hit. He was vacationing, enjoying the summer after his second year of university on a solo trip, only for three or so days, when the disease hit the Midwest. It originated before he left for his trip, and spread so quickly that there was nearly no warning before it hit the East Coast and spread west. Germany had sounded the alarm before the disease got to the West Coast, but for many, it was too little, too late. 

Harry was sitting in traffic, not moving anywhere, simply feeling the bright sun coming in through the window on his left arm, lighting up his tattoos. Driving east on the highway, the view was monotonous, so much so that his green eyes zoned out, not noticing the dwindling number of cars headed his same direction. Some cars were turning around at an alarmingly quick rate, forming one long line onto the off ramp. Other cars worked their way into the right lanes, trying to do the same. Harry kept creeping forward. Indie rock came through his speakers, distracting him from the outside honking and noises as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat and haunting melody. Eyes glazed over and lost in thought, Harry was jolted back into the real world as the music became more discordant and unnerving. Turning down the stereo didn’t help; the eerie background vocals continued onwards. Harry shut off his radio, rolled down a window, and listened as his car slowly crested the top of a hill on the highway. 

It was a lovely, clear dusk, offering up the best visibility from this peak. Through the undisturbed air, Harry could see the skyline of downtown Chicago, skyscrapers looking somewhat blurry, outlined in pinks and purples as the sun set. About three miles down, headed towards the city, cars were more congested, people were screaming, and oddly enough, between the cars were mobs of bodies, awkwardly moving, moaning people, shaking the cars and attacking others and slowly, but not slowly enough, shuffling down the highway towards Harry.

A stiff gust of wind blew into the window, ruffling Harry’s long, curly hair, bringing with it a certain smell, the smell of rotting meat, of elderly homes, of lost childhood pets, of death. Harry physically recoiled from the stench, holding his breath away from the window as he quickly rolled it up again. His heart beat quicker once he was once again secure in his car. The smell was killing his nose, even as his AC filtered it out and basic survival instincts were waking up inside him. In his brain, Harry’s amygdala was firing ‘fight or flight’ at full blast and threatening to take over. He considered turning around on that side of the highway, only to see another car do the same behind him, swerving into an oncoming vehicle who overcompensated and tore head-on into the concrete wall. Harry screamed into his rearview mirror, fighting the panic quickly rising up at him. No longer moving forward, he watched the accident’s smoldering remains. The driver of the car that turned around was crawling out of his car, wearing a bright red polo, and knocking on the door of the other hit vehicle. The inhabitant of that car was bent at an awkward angle, body flopping ninety degrees to the right, and twisted towards the back. Harry could barely see the rise and fall of their chest as they struggled to breathe. Except, after two more stuttering inhales, they stopped. Harry fought the urge to vomit. The man in the red polo was frantic, nearly yanking the car door off its hinges to try and assist the apparently deadman inside. 

That was the wrong choice. As Harry signaled to the right, slowly moving towards the exit, he got a better view of the accident, and a better view of what was about to unfold. Reaching into the car, red polo man jostled and moved the body. Or so Harry thought. A second glance revealed the body moving on its own, slowly groaning to an upright position, before the head lunged forward, biting into the wrist of the red polo man. Harry’s stomach turned, and he had to look away as the blood began to run into the attacker’s mouth, pouring out of his lips, down the sides of his face, cutting red rivers through dark skin. 

“HOLY SHIT.” Harry yelled once again, feeling his panic returning. 

Harry noticed other surrounding cars noticing, especially those on the hilltop with him. As he worked his way onto the off ramp, he saw the mob of people up the highway continue cutting their path. Rolling down a window, he motioned to the woman next to him, driving a minivan full of children. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, what’s going on?”

“We’ve got to get out of here! I’ve got to turn around!” She honked desperately at the car in front of her. “They’re coming!”

“Who’s they?” Harry asked, only to have the woman roll up her window and move forward, ignoring him to talk to one of the kiddos in the backseat. Harry rolled up his own window once again to block out the smell. God, it was awful. Behind him, he could no longer see the red polo man’s accident.

Finally, he got off the ramp and onto a frontage road taking him backwards, away from the mob. Turned around, he got a good look at the red polo man and the dark skinned man, walking down the hallway, banging on cars, looking blankly into the windows. Both had stopped bleeding, and were simply oozing dark brown blood, looking thick and viscous. The man’s bitten wrist was gone, stripped down the to bone, but he continued to reach towards the other cars unfortunate enough to be next to him. 

Harry rolled down his window, inhaled a now more concentrated death smell, and promptly puked over the side of his rental car. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, careful not to get any on his rings, he took a few unsteady breaths. 

Grabbing his phone, he rerouted Siri to take him back home, back to St. Louis, Missouri. Chicago could wait. The group of foul-smelling people were coming en masse from Chicago anyways. Harry felt with a sinking foreboding in his tattooed chest that maybe, Chicago was just one big mob. Harry floored it back onto the opposite side of the highway, holding the steering wheel in a death grip, maneuvering around other cars, trying to beat the traffic headed back.  His mother, Anne, lived in Chesterfield while he had just rented an apartment in University City, a shared space with his best friend, Louis.

Turning on the radio, he switched from the indie station to what he assumed was the local news for the city. A pinched, stressed voice came through his car, urging everyone to “stay inside, lock the doors, and for Heaven’s sake, don’t let anyone bite you.”

Bite you? Harry thought back to the man in the red polo being bitten by the dark skinned man in the accident. The last thing he wanted were those dead eyes getting close enough to bite. 

Picking up his phone, he shakily dialed his mum’s number, waiting two rings for it to pick up. 

“Hello?” His mother’s voice came in through the cell phone, small and happy to be hearing from Harry.

“Mum, are you watching the news?”

“No, sweetie, why?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but-”

“Harry, are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine-“

“Are you sure? You don’t sound too good.” Perceptive as always, she was.

“Mum, listen to me! I need you to get home, now, and lock yourself in. Don’t open the doors for anyone, okay?”

“Harry?”

“And shut the windows too. Maybe turn on the tv and see what’s going on?”

“Harry, what in the world are you calling for?”

“Mummy, just do it, please. I’ve got a really bad feeling today, I’ve seen something bad, real bad.”

“Where are you?” Panic and concern permeated her voice, ringing clearly in Harry’s ears.

“I’m on my way back to St Louis,” Harry replied, trying to keep his voice level.

“What about Chicago?”

“Chicago isn’t looking too good right now. It might be on the news already.”

“Was there a bombing?”

“What?”

“A terrorist attack, was there a bombing?”

“No, just- watch the tv please.” In the background, someone honked at Harry when he swerved slightly out of his lane.

“Mum, I have to go, I’m driving.”

“Okay, drive safely!” She sounded unusually chipper for a time like this. Maybe she hadn’t turned on the television yet. Maybe the television wasn’t displaying news from Chicago yet. 

What would the news even display? A group of dead people came back to life? Harry scoffed at himself. That sounded like something out of a zombie movie. Then, he froze, nearly slamming the brakes in surprise. Was that not what he had just seen, a scene out of a zombie movie? A dead man wakes, bites someone, and smells like decomposing flesh? He fought the urge to vomit again. In the Romero flicks that middle-school Harry loved so much, only destruction of the brain would stop a zombie. He wracked his brain thinking of a weapon in his car he could use. He had a window scraper in the backseat, but it was made of plastic, and was much too short for his liking. In the trunk was a tire iron, much sturdier, but it also did not allow him as much reach, letting him get too close to the potential zombies for comfort. 

Could he even bash someone’s skull in, even out of necessity? These were never questions that he had to ask himself before. Even in the relative safety of a fast moving car, he longed for a gun. Not that he knew how to shoot one that accurately, although many others did. God bless the Midwest and their dangerously loose gun laws. Louis knew, and he was the one with a small arms license, swearing he’d protect their flat. Never mind that Louis was much less physically intimidating than Harry. Louis was a small man, petite and quite frankly, cute. Not that Louis would ever let Harry call him that.

Harry reached for his phone again. Louis’ number was in his favorites, easy to maneuver to, and quick to call. The phone rang. And rang. And rang. 

“You have reached the mailbox of Louis, please leave a message after the tone.” Beep.

“Hey Louis,” Harry opened calmly, “Don’t tell me I’m crazy, but zombies might be real, and I know this sounds insane, but I need you to go somewhere safe and get our gun there too, okay? I’m on my way home, but please, please, don’t open the door for anyone who can’t answer.” Harry’s usually slow voice struggled to keep up with his thoughts as he spoke. “I’ll see you soon. Love you, mate. Bye.” Harry hung up. 

The sun was no longer visible, and the sky had turned from violet to a deep navy, painting everything blue. Harry’s headlights switched on,  illuminating the path ahead. The last 40 miles passed in peace, with just the hum of the engine providing a background for Harry’s thoughts. He was too wired to turn on the radio. 

It was that silent type of peace that had Harry on edge, the calm before the storm, the building up of suspense before the jump-scare, the deep inhale before a scream. The moment Harry had this thought, he spotted a dark, twitching lump coming up quickly. A quick glance confirmed that it was a cow lying haphazardly on the ground, with broken legs, and a wide open flank, spilling muscle and gore onto the pavement. It should have been dead,  but it turned to face his headlights, baring its teeth. Harry swerved to avoid it, and nearly did, had it not been for the fact that the cow lunged its head forward and ultimately beneath Harry’s wheels. 

The sickening crunch and splat had Harry scrambling to straighten his car as small pieces of brain matter and fur flung themselves onto his windshield. Harry twisted his rings nervously as he slowed the car, but he did not dare to stop. In the field to the right, other cows and bulls were eating grass quietly, oblivious to what had just happened to their brother on the road.

Jesus Christ. Fucking zombie cows, what the hell? Fuck Illinois. 

Not even five minutes later, the engine began to sputter. The smell of cooking meat wafted through the air conditioning, prompting Harry to shut it down. The lights in the car flickered off, and the headlights went soon after. Pulling over to the side of the road, Harry exited the vehicle quietly, looking around nervously before taking another step away from his car. His curls whipped him in the face as the wind off the corn pushed it every which way. He popped the trunk with his keys, removing the tire iron and holding it outstretched. His arm shook with every movement towards his hood, which was still smoking.

Careful not to touch the pieces of meat and blood on the hood, he opened it up and examined the blackened piece of metal that was his car engine. He cursed himself for not taking that automotive care class as an elective his senior year. He had no idea what the hell was wrong, and he doubted that calling a mechanic at this hour would help.

Headlights appeared in the distance, getting larger and larger the closer they appeared. Harry frantically waved his arms in the air, jumping up and down to get the driver’s attention. As the car approached, it sped up, switching into the other lane to avoid Harry. 

Crestfallen, Harry assumed that the car had ran into a zombie-person before. After his encounter with the cow, he doubted he would have stopped for anyone either. He climbed back in his car and manually locked the doors, pulling out his phone once again to call AAA. It went to the company’s automated voice response immediately, asking him to leave a message with his location, and that they would send a truck out as soon as possible, but that they were currently unavailable due to “emergency situations”. Harry had a feeling that he knew what they were struggling with. 

More cars passed by without stopping. 

Harry called Louis once again, and once again he was sent to voicemail. A churning began in his gut, a nervousness and worry for his best mate. Louis had been his best since he could remember. They had got on from the word go, and had been inseparable from the beginning. They went to the same uni together purposefully, although Louis had gone a year earlier, being older than Harry. Harry thanked his lucky stars that he got into the same university as Louis; it was the only one he applied to.

Harry sent a quick prayer up into the sky that Louis be safe, wherever he was.

As he drifted off to sleep in his locked car, Harry had no idea that in St Louis, Louis was doing the same for him.

++++++

  
  


_ Thud. _

_ Thud. _

_ Thud. _

Harry woke up with a crick in his neck and a dull thumping sound in his ears. He slowly blinked his eyes open, trying to remember where he was was, and why wasn’t he in a bed? 

_ Thud. _

He gingerly turned his head to the left and sat up, looking out the window from where the sound was coming from.

_ Thud.  _

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of a decomposing woman smashing her forehead on his driver’s side window. She were smudging fluids onto the clear glass, blood congealing and creeping out of her temple, dirtying blonde hair. The thuds became less rhythmic and more frantic once she saw Harry moving, and she bared her teeth. Harry nearly wet his skinny jeans staring into its eyes.

The zombie’s eyes were probably once a quite lovely blue color, much like Louis’ are. Now, they were clouded over and dusty looking, with visible pieces of dirt lodged at the lash line. The body stared unblinkingly and groaned some more, increasing the rhythm of the smacks on the glass. The glass began to tremble and shake in its frame. Harry had a very limited amount of time before it would give way, leaving him trapped in the car with a dead woman’s torso directly over him.

With shaking hands, Harry slowly tied his hair up with an extra tie, fumbling with the elastic, losing precious seconds as the glass began to crack. His next move was to grab the tire iron from the passenger’s seat, holding on to it as hard as he could.

Then, he launched himself outside of the passengers door. He stumbled a bit on the exit but quickly righted himself with a grunt, turning to face the zombie through the windows. The zombie knocked it’s head against the glass one last time, shattering it completely and ending up just as Harry predicted, with its torso over the driver’s side. Glass lodged in it’s face as it attempted to free itself, arms flailing as it attempted to get a grip on the window frame. Harry took a deep breath that he regretted when he smelled the zombie, but charged around the car anyways, raising the tire iron above his head. The moment the zombie freed its head, Harry swung the metal down as hard as he could, connecting the zombie’s skull and his tire iron with a sickening crunch. Harry swung his weapon backwards only to bring it down on the zombie again. The top of its head was now visibly deformed, caving in at the top in an uneven line. 

The zombie fell to the ground.

Harry continued to beat at the woman’s head, caving it in. He didn’t even notice the tears burning in his eyes, blurring his vision as he beat senselessly at the now-still corpse. Bits of flesh, bone, and hair stuck to the tire iron before being flung every direction with every downstroke. A loud, desperate noise worked its way past his pounding heartbeat and registered in Harry’s ears. Harry stilled his movements in order to register the source of the sound only to realize that it was him, his sobs filling the air while he destroyed the zombie’s head. 

Harry quickly stood from his kneeling position and took in what he had done. Thankfully, the woman was no longer moving, not even a twitch. What was her head was now a bloody brown pulp with stringy blonde hair weaving between chunks of bone and facial structure. Harry gaped at the mess, feeling guilty and conflicted, but overall grateful that he had survived. He began to take in his surroundings a bit more, seeing blood spatter on the side of his car and in a large radius around the body. He looked down at himself, at his blood stained sweater and barely flecked button down and immediately ripped off his sweater, quickly mourning the cashmere and popped buttons. He gently wiped off the blood from his face, careful to use a non-stained portion of his sweater. He cleaned off his tire iron, too. 

Harry took two steps away from the body before freezing, a wave of guilt hitting him again. Conflicted, he wrung his sweater between his hands before he turned around again. He paused, taking a deep breath, and bent over the body. He could see on the neck of the zombie was a gold chain holding a diamond ring, not unlike Harry’s own rings around his neck. A gold monogram lay next to the ring, reading “ABN”. Slowly, he lay down his sweater over the body and smashed skull, covering the blood and gore.

Straightening, he wiped his eyes with his mostly clean wrists.

“ABN, I don’t know who you were, or what happened, but I’m sorry. I- I had to. I hope that helped. I know that God will welcome you home with open arms, He’s got to. So yeah. I’m sorry.” 

Harry’s deep voice was the only sound on the road, save for the rush of the wind through the corn. 

And so, Harry began walking.

+++ 

Three hours later, Harry was still walking, but this time with a more pronounced limp. His leather boots that were once so comfortable were now hurting the balls of his feet because of their heel. He hated how they were getting scuffed as he dragged his feet, white marks sullying the smooth black material. The sun up above indicated that it was probably past noon, but still high enough in the sky for his hair to feel like it was burning. Behind him was nothing but corn, and ahead was nothing but corn.

He stuck to the side of the highway, scared of getting too close to the corn. A few times he considered stepping into the corn for concealment, even though he had yet to see any more zombies on his walk, but something told him that would be a bad idea. One step into the field showed him that if something was in fact, coming for him, he wouldn’t be able to see it until it was nearly on top of him. No thanks. 

On the fourth hour, Harry began to sing. 

_ One way, or another, I’m gonna get you I’m gonna get you get you get you one way, or another, I’m gonna win you. _

He was certain he was getting the lyrics mixed up, but at least there was no one there to witness it. His rings glinted in the sun, silver metal and black stones reflecting the light. He nearly blinded himself looking at his own fingers, but at least it kept him entertained. Harry’s thoughts began to wander, wandering away to St Louis. If he wasn’t at his end goal, he could at least daydream about it. 

Harry thought of his mum first, of Anne, at home in Chesterfield in the suburbs. Her home was surrounded by others like it, but Anne’s was one of the only ones to have two stories. He really hoped that would be an advantage, and that he had taken her advice and shut the doors and windows. For a moment, he saw a brunette zombie with sparkling eyes and dimples in her cheeks shambling his way towards him. He quickly shook that thought out of his head, knowing it could only go downhill from there. Anne was alive, she had to be, and a quick phone call would confirm that. He pulled his phone out for a quick second, before shoving it back in his pocket, leaving it off. It had begun to lose battery yesterday at night, so he turned it all the way off before going to sleep in his car. He only hoped that there would still be signal when he turned it back on again.

Louis never returned his call as far as he knew. 

Louis was never one to not answer his phone, especially when Harry was calling. The two were in constant communication, sending each other fake-sappy good morning texts and telling each other goodnight even though they were only a room away from each other in their previous dorm building. He smiled at the memory, wondering if Louis got around to sending him a “good night, beautiful xx” text the previous night. Harry wished he could charge his phone. He patted his bun down absentmindedly. 

Louis teased him when he wore his hair that way, saying he preferred to see his curls loose and free, probably so he could tug on them. Harry thought he twirled his hair a lot, but then he met Louis, and Louis twirled Harry’s hair more than Harry did. It was hilarious, when then were little and his curls had just started to form, how Louis would loop his finger through the gaps. When Harry was 17, Louis called that the “prime curl era”, because Harry’s hair was a mess then. Had Harry been more interested in finding a boyfriend or girlfriend- he thought then that he would still want a girlfriend- he would have been more attentive to his hair, but because he wasn’t, he let the locks fall where they were after a quick arrangement when he got out of bed. He thought that, until he found the perfect girl, he had Louis.

Time passed quickly as Harry lost himself in his mind, putting one foot in front of the other, trying to keep his eyes wide open for any potential threats. The asphalt beneath his feet burned hot on his soles, and he kicked out a few pebbles out from under him. The small gray rocks flung forward and backwards, leaving white streaks on his boots, adding to the cross hatched pattern already on the shoes.

To the right and left was corn, never ending corn, flanking the road, silent sentinels under the blue sky. They bent and swayed with the slight wind, rustling soothingly, covering up the sound of Harry’s footsteps. Green stalks held up green ears that listened to every sigh that came out of his mouth.  _ We are here,  _ they said with silent mouths,  _ we hear you.  _ They absorbed every thought that he breathed, leaking out of his nostrils. The crunch of the gravel was also sucked into the  _ swoosh _ of the corn, getting pulled into space between the stalks.

Breaking up the corn were pastures, some empty and some dotted with brown cows languidly chewing up the grass. Thankfully, the cows were all still living, but that did not stop Harry from picking up his pace when he walked past. They mainly ignored his presence, only one curious calf looking up and approaching the fence and resting it’s head on the wooden logs. Harry flinched hard at the calf who continued to look at him with glassy eyes. He took a few sideways steps to avoid getting close to the thing. Honestly, he thought they were cute, but taking a risk while trying to get home was dumb, especially when he couldn’t communicate with his family and friends. 

Three more days passed in this silent, bovine, manner. He passed roadsigns pointing to St Louis before finally crossing the “Welcome to Missouri” sign in the early morning of the fourth day. Every step across the river was painful and slow, hindered by his damp shoes and clothing. On the third day, it rained, a torrential downpour in 90 degree weather typical of St Louis. It was a blessing, truly, as Harry was feeling the effects of dehydration. Ponds were few and far between, and he didn’t trust the Mississippi river to not kill him with some horrible disease. The water below the bridge was turbulent and swift, fed by the water falling from the sky. Every so often, blurry shapes appeared in the current, looking human and unsettlingly dead. Harry stopped looking down.

The streets of the city, from what he could see from his place on the highway, were nearly deserted, and Harry preferred to think of them that way. Every so often, movement occurred, but Harry only looked long enough to assess that they were not a threat to him and his tire iron. The worst part was the sound. Every other flicker of life in the corner of his eye was followed by a scream, and sometimes by moaning, as a human being was being attacked. In the windows of the factories and tall buildings nearest the road, the moaning was loudest, coming through the windows, sometimes accompanied by the dull, soft, thud of a zombie pushing up against it. Luckily, all the windows held. 

Also luckily, if not more so, the same could be said of the car windows that Harry was avoiding. Cars dotted the street on both sides of the divider. Some were abandoned and empty while others were stocked up with what looked like brand new camping supplies and overstuffed suitcases. Almost every other car had a dead person in it, and almost every other dead person began to moan at the sight of Harry’s long figure limping by. He kept his eyes straight ahead the entire time, not wanting to look into the emptiness of the bodies. Too often, his eyes wandered down to his feet, or the tire iron still gripped in his hand instead of observing his surroundings. This cost him at night. 

Stumbling in the dark, gripping warm metal in his hand, he bumped a side mirror with his thigh, jolting himself awake. Confused and bruised, he swerved wildly into the next car on his right, nearly falling through the open half of a rolled down window. Inside, a thin man was sitting in the driver’s seat; he lunged at Harry, a sharp bit of glass in his hand. Harry raised his  tire iron backwards in offense, and the man shrank back, surprised. Harry was startled to see a human expression on his face, and desperately tried to lower his arm, but to no avail. His locked up muscles and fatigued body continued their arc of momentum towards the man’s head, no matter how loudly his sluggish brain yelled for him to stop. 

A loud crack of bone and a shattering of glass later, the thin man was knocked unconscious across the steering wheel. Harry hoped he was only unconscious. The blood trickling from his forehead was red and thin, layering onto the car’s cloth seats over a darker brown stain. Harry, in all his guilt, pulled down down his rolled up sleeve and used the end to try to stop the flow of blood. Leaning into the window, he could see a baby’s carseat strapped into the passenger side. Harry craned his neck for a closer view, still applying pressure to the man’s head. He whimpered when he saw the carseat was empty save for a large brown stain that matched the coloring on the driver’s chair. Harry’s lip trembled, and he bit it hard to stop it. The man beneath his arm stirred before falling still again. Harry drew back sleeve, upset to see that the human blood still fell down his face. Silently, he begged for forgiveness before continuing down the highway. 

Three more miles and many more hours passed before Harry reached his exit. He walked to the right, picking his way through the few cars on the off ramp. One of the reasons he and Louis chose to rent their particular apartment was because of the proximity to the highway, allowing them easier access to the other cities within St Louis. Harry had never been more thankful for their choice before that moment, when he knew he was only three long blocks from his new home.

Now on ground level, Harry forced his mind awake, hoping the quickly rising sun would help. The heat and evaporating water from the pavement kept him uncomfortable enough to keep his eyes open as the sky became more orange than gray. The streets here were unlike those of downtown; they were much quieter, which unsettled him. Every so often, he swore he saw a curtain pull away from a window, but by the time his disoriented head looked towards the movement, it was gone. No moaning followed those events. 

Finally, he was at the intersection that marked the street he lived on. He licked his lips with a dry tongue, and picked up his pace, leaning heavily to the right. His tire iron stayed locked in his hands. 

The front of the building was boarded up with new-looking wooden slats, but the light on the security pad by the door was still lit. The red bricks were stained with blood, but the reinforced glass doors were still intact. Harry fumbled with his keys before he found the plastic card he pressed up to the small machine. While the lights changed, he looked at himself in the glass; he was gaunt, visibly dehydrated, and generally greasy. Rust colored zombie blood still flecked his arm, too dry to be smudged off. The red light turned green, and the door unlocked. He pushed it open and quickly shut it behind him.

The hallway lights flickered overhead, illuminating tightly shut doors. Some were marked off with red duct tape, in fact, most were. Harry began the climb up to the eighth floor despite his body’s protests and pleas to collapse on the carpet. One foot in front of the other, he continued.

Finally, he made it, heart beating oddly and quickly as he walked to apartment C. Loudly, he fumbled with his keys again, trying to put them in the keyhole. The keys fell to the floor twice. Harry slammed his arm against the door in frustration. He collapsed to the dirty ground and felt tears well up in his eyes, desperation driving them past his waterline and onto his cheeks. He was going to die so close to home, alone, but so close to contacting his friends and family again. He didn’t feel the rough carpet under his face, so he certainly didn’t feel the door open  against his side.

“Harry?”

++++++

Cold water dropped down onto Harry’s face, trickling down to his ears. Rocks weighed on his eyelids, holding them closed. Twine sewed his mouth shut, but a weak groan escaped him. Immediately, he heard shuffling and voices surrounding his head. A flannel wiped his brow. 

“Harry?”

The twine unraveled and was pulled out of his mouth, parting his swollen, cracked lips.

“Are you awake?”

The rocks lifted off his lids and his eyelashes fluttered.

“Have some water.” Blessed, life saving liquid was poured into his mouth that was being held open by gentle fingers. He swallowed and felt the coolness slip down his throat. He opened his eyes slowly to take in the bright world around him. Directly in front of his face, holding a water bottle, was Louis. His big blue eyes were shiny with leftover tears, and they were red around the edges. Beneath the obvious worry was an overwhelming look of relief.

His hand remained on Harry’s jaw, cupping it still. Harry opened his mouth, but only a weak sound came out. Louis leaned in closer, hair brushing Harry’s forehead. Suddenly, Louis was yanked back with a curse.

“Louis, what the hell are ya doing?” A rough Irish voice boomed through the room. Harry widened his eyes at the unfamiliar sound. “He could be infected still, for all ya know, and ya haven’t even tied down his hands. Are you stupid?”

“Niall, it’s Harry,” Louis began, a pleading note creeping into his voice, “Don’t you be stupid. Besides, we checked him while he was out. Not a bite mark on his body!”

At this, Harry realized that beneath a rough blanket, he was spread out and naked. A quick twitch of his legs told him that his feet were bound to the bed and his lower abdomen was strapped down. Louis saw the movement and leaned in close to Harry again.

“Does something hurt? Do you need more water? I can untie you if you want.”

“Like hell you're untying him.”

Louis’ features flickered in annoyance. “Fuck off, Niall.”

Footsteps stomped out of the room and a door slammed, leaving Harry and Louis alone. 

“L-Louis?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“I want…” Harry trailed off. Louis tried to finish his sentence for him.

“More blankets? Looser ties? Take it easy, d’you need water?” Harry shook his head feebly.

“Wan’ a hug.” Harry’s voice cracked, but he was proud of himself for getting the words out.

Louis smiled widely, eyes filling with tears again. He all but collapsed onto Harry, holding him tight in his arms. Harry’s back lifted off the bed, pressing closer to Louis, who was gripping his broad shoulders. Louis was shaking and sighing into Harry’s neck. Harry felt his breath heat up his skin, proof that they were both alive.

“Oh God, Harry, I thought I’d never see you again.” He began to babble as Harry weakly rubbed his back. “I got your voicemail, but you never answered your phone again and then I saw the news of Chicago and then the dead started knocking on our door,  and, oh God, I didn’t know, I just didn’t know…”

If he had more liquid in his body, Harry would have been crying too. As it was, he simply held Louis tighter and murmured into his ear. “It’s okay, I’m here,” played on a loop in an attempt to calm Louis’ breaths.

Harry’s mind, as tired as it was, was racing. Louis had clearly been crying, even before he hugged him, something he rarely did in front of strangers like Niall. Which of course, reminded Harry that he had no clue who Niall was. His heart ached as he pictured his best friend finding him on their doorstep, thinking he was dead and breaking down in front of a stranger, embarrassment adding itself to his grief. 

Finally, Louis’ breaths steadied. He pulled back, but left his hand lingering on Harry’s arm. Harry registered the pressure and tried to lean into it with his body only to be held back by the strap across his belly button. He had forgotten about that. 

“Oh Harry, I’ll back for that in a minute, I promise.”

“It’s okay.” Harry leaned back and stared at the roof, listening to the door open and shut and open again. Two sets of footsteps came in. Harry turned to the noise to see Niall walk in with Louis’s gun. He raised an eyebrow; Niall raised the gun to point at him. 

“Louis?” His rough voice wavered.

“It’s okay Harry, he said we could untie you but the gun’s for just in case. Not too bad, right Harry?” Louis was smiling gently down at him and speaking with a soothing voice.That made it seem like maybe it wasn’t so bad. When Louis brought the water to his lips again, Harry was totally okay with it. There was water, so he nodded.

Louis put the water back down and moved over Harry’s torso, peeling off the blanket and undoing the belt-rope combination that held him. He bit his lip at the indents they left in his skin before he tried to smooth them out with slow strokes. Harry watched Louis as he blushed and seemed to laugh at himself for even trying while he moved to undo the restraints at his feet. But, it was Harry’s turn to blush at how his legs were spread. He glanced over at Niall, who seemed to be staring at Louis as well, leaving Harry to wonder what that intense gaze was for.

“Does this hurt, Harry?” Louis commented on his discomfort and stilled his hands.

“No, m’fine, it’s just that- why are my legs…” he twitched his free foot. 

“We just had to check everywhere for bites, or cuts or something. You had a lot of blood on you and we didn’t know where it was coming from, so… spread legs.” 

Harry nodded.

Niall spoke up, “Hiya Harry, It’s nice to meet you, I’m sure. Sorry about the gun again, I really am. I trust Louis but I don’t trust those scratches all on your arm.” 

Louis nodded at Niall, but Harry still looked weary. 

“He’s a good guy, promise.” He shot Niall a scathing look, “ _ remember _ ?”

Niall laughed for the first time, an unexpectedly warm sound. He lowered the gun a bit and took a few steps towards him to help Louis help him sit up. “I guess I don’t have to be pointin’ it at ya the whole time, though.” Up close, Harry got a better look at the Irishman. He had soft blue eyes and a cleft chin and bright blonde hair that lay strangely in multiple directions. His shoulders relaxed as he supported Harry, but his grip on the downturned weapon hadn’t loosened an inch. He turned his face towards Louis again.

“So, we’ll get you a sandwich and then I’ll show you around for a bit. It’s only been like, a week but we’ve made some changes to our apartment.” 

“Yeah no shit. Duct tape everywhere,” Harry said, looking around.

“There’s a system. C’mon we’re getting up now.”

Harry munched on a thin sandwich as him and Louis walked around their apartment. Louis had gotten the pistol from Niall, but it was tucked into his pocket. Harry could feel it on his own thigh as they walked side by side, him leaning heavily on Louis’ warmth. 

Louis began, “pretty much everything is the same in the main part of the apartment. The couch is up against the wall now, and I dragged the desk chairs over to the kitchen. All the big changes are by the door. I don’t know if you noticed when you came in.”

“I was mostly passed out, so… no,” Harry chuckled. 

“Fair enough. Okay, so we have these little end tables here…” Louis gestured at the now cluttered entry hallway. He explained that it didn’t seem like the zombies were all that good at running, so the tables pushed up against the walls made a zig zag pattern to make it harder for them to get in quickly if, god forbid, the worst happened, but they were still short enough for the living to jump over. “The idea was Niall’s, cus he watches out the window and noticed them having a tough time in alleys around dumpsters but also around smaller boxes if they couldn’t lift their legs high enough. We’ve got a sculpture student next door who says if he has extra wood he’ll make shorter boxes to actually attach to the walls. These are short, sorta, but they’re not that easy to get over.”

Harry hmm-ed at the info, eyeing them warily, “I could use that, because I’m an uncoordinated idiot.”

Louis laughed at him and flicked him on the shoulder. Harry batted his hand away, only to have his wrist trapped, and Louis turning his sparkling eyes on him.

“Uncoordinated for sure, but the jury’s still out on idiot.”

“There's a jury?”

“Yes, and they're currently deliberating over whether or not you deserve the dinner I made.” Louis replied with a wink. 

“Oh good, buttered toast! A proper feast!” Harry made to leap over one of the zig zagging table mazes, only to slam his shin into the furniture. Walking for days took away his dubious coordination, 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Honestly of all my WIPS this one's my favorite and I hope I eventually finish it.


End file.
